Semua Bab The Alpha's Mute Mate : Bab 131 - Bab 140

The cold was the first thing to claw its way into my senses, seeping through every broken fragment of my body like a poison that refused to be washed away, settling into my bones and wrapping its icy fingers around my very soul. My wrists throbbed with the relentless bite of silver shackles, cruelly wrapped tight enough to bite into raw flesh but never enough to sever the fragile threads still holding me to this cursed existence. The stone beneath me was unyielding and merciless—hard, unforgiving, and completely devoid of comfort, much like the place itself. This was no room for healing; it was a chamber designed to suffocate hope, built to strip wolves like me down to their barerest, most vulnerable selves, and then to grind those fragments into dust. The silence here was absolute, crushing, pressing into my ears until my own heartbeat was deafening.There was no mercy in this quiet, only a vast, hollow emptiness that mocked the fury simmering inside me, a rage burning so fiercel

The air in this wretched dungeon is thicker than blood—damp, suffocating, a living thing that presses against my lungs with every breath.I sit on the cold, unforgiving stone floor, my back braced against the jagged wall, its surface scraping into my skin like a cruel reminder that I’m still alive.Chains dig into my wrists, the metal so cold it burns, slicing into flesh every time I shift the slightest inch. Pain is a constant companion now—one I no longer flinch from.I’ve stopped screaming. I’ve stopped pleading. I’ve stopped giving Sebastian the satisfaction of sound. My silence has evolved into something more dangerous than fury. It’s no longer submission—it’s strategy. It’s a blade honed in darkness. And every time he walks in expecting to find the girl he broke, he’s met instead with the woman who is sharpening her vengeance in the shadows.I watch him now, standing a few feet away, arms folded like the king of ashes he believes himself to be.His eyes—cold, sharp, and p

I sit perfectly still, even though every muscle in my body aches from the cold stone beneath me and the lingering bruises that throb with every heartbeat. The stale air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and something darker—fear, maybe, or desperation.It clings to the walls like a shroud, wrapping me tighter than any chain ever could. My skin prickles beneath the coarse fabric of my shirt, but I refuse to give in to weakness. They want me broken, defeated, screaming for mercy. But I’m neither. I am silent. I am stillness. And in this quiet, my mind sharpens, claws unsheathing beneath the calm surface, ready to strike when the time is right.Every breath I take is measured, controlled. I listen—not just to the sounds but to the silences between them, the tension that fills the space where words should be.Sebastian’s footsteps echo down the corridor before he even enters the cell. I feel the shift in the air, the tightening of the atmosphere, and I prepare myself. When

The door creaks open, not gently, but with that metallic groan that always carries the same message: filth in, filth out. The stench hits before the tray does—over boiled meat, watery broth, something sour from yesterday’s slop reused. Same food, same dull tray, same pattern of pretend care. I remain where I sit at first, unmoved, quiet. Not because I’m obedient. No. Because I’m watching. The guard bends to shove the tray through the slit in the bars like always, the kind of movement that assumes I’ll just crawl toward it like a starving dog. But today, I didn't play quietly. I don’t play defeated. I lash out with one precise kick, slamming the tray back through the slot so fast and hard it clatters off the metal bars and ricochets upward. Soup explodes. Grease and liquid coat his boots, stain his trousers. The sound it makes is satisfying. The way he flinches back, startled, even more so.He curses under his breath and raises his hand, maybe out of instinct, maybe out of arrog

The sharp, searing pain that ripped down my spine was unlike anything I had ever felt before—not a simple wound or bruise but a violent, fiery shattering of every nerve ending, a torment that seemed to set my entire body ablaze from within. I could feel my muscles twitching uncontrollably, my bones twisting and popping with sickening cracks as the agony threatened to consume me whole, to swallow my consciousness into a bottomless pit of despair and oblivion. Yet, no scream came from my throat; no sound escaped the tight prison of my silence. I clawed at my skin with nails sharpened by desperation, digging deep into the tender flesh of my thighs until the pain of blood dripping down my legs was the only proof I still existed in this cruel, unyielding world.Every breath burned in my lungs like molten fire, but I forced myself to endure it in silence, because screaming had never saved me before—silence was my only weapon, and I wielded it now with the fierce, unyielding will of a pris